


Nothing Subtle About What You Do

by wrabbit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, Comment Fic, Community: shkinkmeme, D/s, Implied Sibling Incest, Leather, M/M, Prompt Fic, Sensory Deprivation, Vehicular
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-14
Updated: 2010-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:14:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrabbit/pseuds/wrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'd like to see you try." Mycroft responds without taking the bait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Subtle About What You Do

"Don't make me order you."

He couldn't resist it. How could he?

"I'd like to see you try." Sherlock steadied the violin to cover every humiliating shift of his pupils and twitch of his face that Mycroft was certainly cataloging. If Sherlock ignored him, he really didn't go away, nevertheless the abduction was somewhat of a surprise.

The wind chafed Sherlock's cheeks and tangled his hair impossibly in the short time it took John to order their coffee. He was cuffed and blindfolded before he got the chance to taste it, pushed into a dizzying freefall into a warm interior. He turned his head just in time to avoid smashing his nose into the slick leather of the car seat. His feet were lifted and the door slammed against his heels. A moment later, they were gliding away from John and his dark roast, nothing to hear but the steady hum of the engine. His awareness narrowed to the heady smell of expensive leather, the car heater and someone else as he recovered the air that had been knocked out of him when his belly hit the side of the seat.

Sherlock stretched his neck out, and sure enough the top of his head nudged a trouser clad thigh. A sigh made its way out of his chest as fingers carded through his hair. He winced as wind blown tangles were snagged and teased out.

"Still not interested."

"No?" said Mycroft.

Mycroft scratched the back of his neck, making Sherlock dizzy with the way it amplified and ricocheted in his skull and up and down his spine, nothing but the forward gliding car and the smell of Mycroft, and nothing but leather under his face and bound hands to get a grip on.

"Stop that," Mycroft said.

Sherlock removed his teeth from Mycroft's leg. His shoulder was held in place as the car swung sickly around a roundabout. He pressed his face to the soft tweed at Mycroft's knee for the rest of the journey back the way they came.

"What was that?" Sherlock didn't say as the car pulled over. Strangers pulled him efficiently out of the vehicle and set him on his feet, blinded by the sunlight and shocked by the cool air. The loud busy street in front of the cafe was almost a physical slap.

"Just a reminder," Mycroft didn't respond because Sherlock hadn't said anything.

His coffee was still warm.


End file.
